


fucking incredible

by pavaal



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-11
Updated: 2012-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-14 00:16:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pavaal/pseuds/pavaal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave doesn't really know how to give blowjobs, but he's excellent at working his mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fucking incredible

The idea of Dave being absolutely anywhere near your junk doesn't arouse you so much as it makes you laugh.

He's not nearly as talented in the bedroom as he pretends to be, so when the two of you steal away to your room and lock the door, you're already feeling the onset of a mild—though amused—regret. Dave leans back with his hands providing a cushion and his head cocked toward you like a desperate lady from old detective movies and says something like "put it on."

"What?" you ask, sitting on the bed. You bounce. "A condom?"

Your dad knows the two of you are "sexually active," so you always come home on the weekends to find every nook and cranny stuffed with condoms of a variety of flavors and textures. It unsettles you a little.

You reach between your mattress and bedframe, wrestling two or three free before Dave slumps and sighs loudly.

"No, dude." He pushes himself off the wall and crosses the room to your computer, wiggling the mouse as he clicks and types to pull something up. "The playlist."

"We're not putting on the playlist." You drop the condoms on your sheets, standing up so you can lean over him as he searches your computer for the tracks he sent to you for this specific purpose. "Dave."

He tilts his head back so he can look up at you, and you frown down at him. It's the least sexy collection of music you have ever heard, but Dave always seems bound and determined to have it going whenever the two of you get down to business. You tolerate it when you go all the way, but for just some minor things... you really can't handle the thought of getting off while the soundtrack of The Lion King plays in the background.

"We can put your favorite one on repeat," he offers. You sigh, resting on his shoulder to look up and down the list of songs.

"Two Become One?" The Spice Girls might be okay. It's the lesser of about twenty-three other evils—for all your complaining, though, you can't bring yourself to actually delete the music, because it was a gift from Dave. 

He turns the song on and gets up out of your chair, whipping around to raise his eyebrows over his shades. You grin, backing up toward the bed to reclaim your position, and he follows to sink to his knees before you.

"You can't talk the whole time," you tell him, playfully tugging off his shades and setting them aside. "You almost bit it off last time we did this."

"I've got it," he assures, brushing his fingers against the fabric covering your inner thighs. "This is going to be the best dick-sucking ever, John. Even better for both of us if you've been eating those pineapples I told your dad to buy."

You kick him gently in the chest—it's more of a nudge, really.

"Dave, come on. You're being gross!"

He laughs, spreading your legs a little further and leaning forward so he can press his lips to your crotch; his breath is hot and maybe a bit uncomfortably damp through the fabric of your shorts, but the gesture is enough for the muscles in your legs to tense in warm anticipation of what's to come.

He may not be good at what he does, but he tries every trick in the pornographic book to please you, and you can't criticize him for that. It's Dave that makes it sexy in the first place, and though you're loathe to call him sexy in any capacity to his face, you think it pretty often when the two of you are together.

_Even_ when he starts to kiss up and reaches your stomach and you have to push him with your shoe again; you hate any attention being paid to that area, and you know he knows it. Douche.

"My shirt better be spotless when I get up," he says, glancing up at you as he moves to undo the button of your pants and pull the zipper down. "Are your shoes clean?"

You sigh before you answer and allow yourself a moment to readjust now that your clothes aren't so tight. "They're super clean."

"We'll see about that." He pauses, momentarily dumbfounded by your current positions. Baby Spice sings about the importance of contraception for the fourth time in a row in the background. You glance around the room.

"Uh." Dave reaches out, awkwardly touching the half-hard bulge before him. Your gaze finds his and you're not sure what expression is on your face, but apparently it's not a positive one. "I said the sucking would be good, dude, not this part. Stop looking at me like that."

Your exhalation this time is purposeful and overdramatic, and you roll your eyes with a little smile tugging at your lips before you scoot back on the bed to start wriggling out of your shorts. "Here, I'll help move things along."

Dave seems much more at ease when you manage to slide your pants down to your ankles and your Ghostbusters boxers are exposed for the world to see—the world being just Dave, but you _guess_ they can be synonymous for now.

"Okay." You scooch back to the edge of the bed with some difficulty; you didn't want to take off your shoes and socks because that would be some major mood-killing effort, but it means you're stuck uncomfortably in self-imposed bondage around your feet. "Let's try that again?"

"Okay," Dave repeats back to you, looking from your face to the treasure behind your threads. You cannot believe he's getting cold feet again. His dedication to keep going is admirable, but you really hope he'll either make the decision to just dive right in or confess that he was bluffing and give up until he really is certain that he can be a champion with a dong in his mouth.

You just don't want him embarrassing himself.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to," you finally say, leaning back on your hands. "We can rent a movie and get some snacks if you'd rather just hang out."

"John Egbert, I am going to gobble the goop of your giggle stick tonight and I am not going to fuck it up again," he huffs, and then you realize that this may be less a matter of tantalizing your senses and more a weird matter of salvaging his pride from every other wreck of sexuality the two of you have been through over the course of your relationship.

...really, though, it hasn't been that bad at all. You like doing the deed with Dave and you like getting to various bases with him whenever you're both feeling it, even though you give him a hard time about everything you possibly can.

You wonder if _maybe_ he's feeling the pressure because of your teasing and hold on compliments.

"All right, all right!" you concede, laughing. "I believe you, man. Let's do this." The least you can do for him is be supportive on this endeavor—you aren't intentionally a douche, and if it's something he really wants to do (you never pegged Dave as the type, but whatever) for you, then it would be uncouth to keep discouraging him.

With your support, he cranes his neck forward and tries again what he was pulling with your shorts. His lips are _right there_ on your most sensitive parts, and now that the thicker fabric is out of the way and it's only the cotton of your underwear, it's easier to keep laughter away. Your tongue pokes out through your lips as you watch him.

His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, and you can see his glance dart from his work in front of him up to your eyes. Rarely ever do you pay attention to this degree of detail, but when it's just you and Dave, it's all you _can_ do.

You are seriously in love with this dude, and you couldn't be happier for it. There's no fear of separating friendship stuff with relationship stuff, because the line is blurred completely when you're dating your best buddy.

You wish you'd gone the extra mile and taken off your shorts completely so you could wrap your legs around Dave for extra sexy effect, but you'll just have to keep it in mind for next time. This works for now—and it seems like he's got his own agenda anyway. You'll let him run the show.

After a few seconds of awkward "I-still-don't-know-what-I'm-doing" foreplay, he pulls your cock free; you'd be impressed if he'd managed to get you hard just from mouthing you through your boxers, but he's not that good and you're not that sensitive.

"Hey," he says, peering up at you as he curls his fingers around your shaft. You cut off a gasp.

"Hey?" His teeth are in no danger of scraping or biting, so you're not afraid to engage him in a little conversation. "What's up?"

He runs his thumb against a vein, an oddly casual gesture for what's going on here, but it feels nice anyway so you relax. "What do you want to do after this?"

It takes you a second, but you laugh out of curiosity for where the question came from, and he grins before licking his fingers and working them very gently up and down to get you where he needs you to be. "I'm just asking. We've got the whole night ahead of us."

"Uh," you begin, tilting your head back and letting your eyelids flutter closed. If you're not looking, it's less weird and it feels better, but he likes it when you watch him. There's a constant struggle. "I don't know. Do you want to go out to eat?"

"Nah." He kisses the underside, wiggling his elbow down next to your knee as a stopper and prop of sorts. You suppose it's pretty prudent to keep you from crushing him with your legs. "Is the fair still around?"

You have no idea if the fair is still in town and it's not like you can get up and check right now anyw— _oh_. He moves up from the middle of your shaft, slowly grazing his mouth upward until he reaches the tip and licks.

You quirk your head to the side, looking away from the smut going on in your nether regions with a little titter. "Maybe?" You might be a bit breathless. "Do you wanna do that?"

He doesn't answer you right away, a gesture you're thankful for since he's presently occupied with stuttering your thoughts by finally taking you in. You've been down this road a few times before—either there's been no spit because he was embarrassed or all he _did_ was slobber on your dick, so it seems he finally buckled down and Googled it. You make a quiet noise from the back of your throat, and the two of you are content to do that for a while before you roll your head on your shoulders to look at him again.

He's absorbed in his work, not even close to having your entirety in his mouth, but you're cool with that—you'd rather have him fuck around with the tip of the iceberg than vomit on you trying to find the bottom—and it just takes a little nudge to get him to lift his head and answer you.

"Fair?" you ask as he pumps you again, and yeah, this is way better than him trying to do it dry.

"I'm down," he answers, slowly working one hand from base to tip while the other one does its best to keep your legs pried apart. "You can pay."

You groan out of exasperation rather than Dave's hot erotic stimulation, but you don't argue; this might have been his plan all along, and if so, you have to give him props for waiting until you're vulnerable to ask you out on a date you're going to have to buy.

He takes you into his mouth once more, and you swear he's smirking around your dick, the devious bastard.

"You," it's surprisingly difficult to talk. WikiHow taught him well. "You have to buy the food."

You're not sure if it's assent or persuasion when he pulls back to swirl his tongue around the head of your cock, but it jolts your thoughts entirely elsewhere because he's never done that before. Apparently it also jolts you physically, because he starts to laugh but it's nothing more than a low hum that vibrates through his lips and stimulates you that much more.

Yowza.

The two of you are surprised in equal measure when it only takes about a minute more of him mixing things up for you to come with an unattractive mix between a choking noise and a moan, and you hastily cover your face in embarrassment so you don't have to see the expression on his face for your failure to warn him.

He swallows like a true American hero.

"Holy shit." Your chest is heaving when you flop back on your bed, and little twitches of your post-orgasm bliss still run up your back while you speak. You leave your legs dangling off the edge for now.

"Good?" Dave gets up, stretching out the soreness in his knees before going for the bottle of water he left in here yesterday. He grimaces at the taste in his mouth and downs half the contents. "Jesus, I _asked_ you to eat the fruit. I was ready for serious Gushers action in my mouth and instead I get the bitter flavor of unsweetened baby batter."

You tuck your dick back into your underwear and pull your shorts up so you can comfortably roll on your side, curling up on the bed. "Really good," you answer, wholly ignoring the second half of his statement. "Who'd you practice on?"

"Please," he scoffs, amused. He replaces the cap on the water bottle and drops himself unceremoniously on the bed behind you, throwing his leg over your waist and pulling you close. "That was nothing but talent."

"Whatever." You grin even though he can't see it. "Do you still want to go out tonight?"

He kisses the nape of your neck and you try not to be grossed out by the knowledge of where his mouth just was, instead hoping that the romanticism of the gesture will outweigh everything else. It almost does. "Do I still have to pay for the food?"

You pause, staring at your computer as the realization that the Spice Girls are still singing floats back into your consciousness.

"No," you say. "I guess not."


End file.
